


Chisholm Trail, 1873

by RKMacBride



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen, outlaw days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RKMacBride/pseuds/RKMacBride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing a bar fight in a small Texas town is the reason why Hannibal Heyes never got around to robbing the bank in Fort Worth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chisholm Trail, 1873

**Author's Note:**

> Original version published in _Of Dreams and Schemes #5_ , October 1986.  
> A tip of the hat to Cindy Dye for helping with plotting, way back when I was writing it. Many thanks to Catherine Schlein for publishing it originally.
> 
> This story has been slightly revised, mostly in tweaking dialogue and phrasing, or adding a few details that I didn't think of 28 years ago.
> 
> Brief aside reference to characters in Howard Hawks' _El Dorado_.

 

## Chisholm Trail, 1873

"Oh, you've been drovers? Where?"  
"On the Chisholm Trail, back in 73-74..."  
21 Days to Tenstrike (episode)

* * *

The crashing noises from the saloon across the street sounded like a fight was in progress—well, that was none of his business. He'd learned long ago that mixing in other people's business only brought trouble, and sometimes it was the kind of trouble there was only one way out of. But curiosity led the young drifter to peer through the grimy window anyway. What he saw there changed his mind. A saloon fight was one thing, but four against one? That was another story. He didn't like the odds. _That's not even close to a fair fight..._

None of the combatants saw him as he shoved through the swinging doors. A burly ox of a man was raising an enormous fist to batter his opponent's face. Seizing the upraised arm and hauling the big man off-balance into a table, the young drifter suddenly came face-to-face with the man whose back was against the wall. For a fraction of a second, he stood frozen in shock.

In the next second, the grim-faced young man spun around, and drew his Colt revolver in one smooth motion with an ominous **click**. The saloon keeper's eyes grew wide with astonishment. In Texas, gunslingers were a dime a dozen, but as fast as that? He'd never seen anything like it; that young fella might even be faster than Cole Thornton or J. P. Harrah. The other four erstwhile poker players stared at the young drifter as if a live rattlesnake had dropped into the middle of their table. "Get out of here," he said coldly. "Now." The four men decided not to argue with him; the stakes were too high. Two minutes later, the saloon was deserted except for him, the man he'd rescued, and the saloon keeper.

Reholstering his Colt, the drifter turned back around, sure that he had to be dreaming, or else that he'd been out in the sun too long. "Hannibal?" _This can't really be happening..it's just not possible._

The dark-haired and dark-eyed young man in front of him grinned in spite of a split and bleeding lip. _Found him! Well, all right, he found me..._ "Yeah, Jed, it's me all right." He realized he no longer had to look down to meet his cousin's eyes—the lapse of six years had made them the same height. "You got taller."

Jedidiah Curry shrugged. "Guess I did. You all right?"

"Mostly. That's what I call timing. Thanks for...um...stopping by." _Interesting... he waded into a fight, I guess on principle; he didn't even know the underdog was me. I like that._

"Any time. What was the ruckus about?"

"They thought I was cheating."

His cousin considered that. "Were you?"

Hannibal Heyes attempted to look indignant. "Who, me? Of course not! I was winning, that's all." He grinned again, and bent to retrieve the money that had been on the overturned table. "What are you doing here?"

"Headed for a job. You?"

"Not here. Tell you later, Jed." Heyes shook his head, dizzy from being knocked backward into the wall.

"Come on, then. By the way, most folks call me Kid Curry these days. Nobody's called me by my name in years." _Not since I ran away..._ He walked Heyes out into the street and they sat down on the edge of the boardwalk. Kid gave Heyes his bandana after soaking it in the nearest horse trough. "Here, this ought to help."

Heyes mopped his face with the cold wet kerchief, and held it to the back of his head for a few minutes. He had a splitting headache, and his ribs were sore, but considering what could have happened to him, he wasn't about to complain. "So it's really true," he said after a pause.

"What's true?" Kid eyed him, suspicious.

"The story I heard from an old-timer I ran into in Wyoming. I cleared out of there a few months ago. Since then, I've been looking for you." Heyes pushed his damp hair out of his eyes. "You hungry?"

"Always," Kid declared. "Well, most of the time, anyway."

"So'm I. Let's go get something to eat."

"All right by me. But it better be cheap," Kid hedged. "I only got thirty-seven cents."

"Forget it. I was winning, remember?" The elder of the two patted his pocket. "Besides, I owe you one. Come on," Heyes said, putting his hat back on that he'd picked up off the saloon floor on their way out.

"All right, Hannibal."

Heyes winced. "Nobody calls me by my name anymore, either. Except Big Jim Santana, that is."

"Who's he?"

"A guy I...um, rode with, up in Wyoming."

"So what do folks call you?"

"Just Heyes."

"Okay, but that's gonna take some getting used to. Wait a minute, would you? I left my saddlebags on my horse when I heard the fight goin' on."

They crossed the dusty street to where Kid had tied the ugliest strawberry roan that Heyes had ever laid eyes on. "You call that a horse? Looks like he's ready for the knacker's yard."

Kid shrugged, philosophically. "Well, Joe isn't much for looks, but he goes where I tell him to. Most of the time, that is. Besides, I only had five bucks left after I bought this." He patted the holstered revolver tied down on his right thigh.

"That figures," Heyes said, amused. "A forty-dollar pistol and a five-dollar horse. Hurry up, I'm hungry. Could you eat a steak?"

"Watch me."

"I know where we'll go, then. The food's simple, but it's pretty good." Their destination turned out to be a small adobe cafe called La Mariposa, which was at least somewhat cooler than outdoors.

"Speaking of steaks," Kid remarked as they sat down on the rough-hewn benches, "looks to me like you could use a raw one. That eye's gonna close up on you."

Heyes carefully touched his bruised left cheekbone, and below his eye. "Nah, it's not that bad, I don't think. Anyway, so what? It was worth it for the money. Those boys were easy pickings—I've seen sheep smarter than them." He chuckled.

When the señorita came over to their table, they ordered steak, beans, and coffee; when the food came, they ate it in a silence that was almost awkward. The two young men had known each other all their lives, but due to circumstances they were more like strangers than family. "So," said Heyes at length, "this is 1873, which makes you ... twenty-one as of March." _You sure don't look it, though...I see why you get called 'Kid'_ , Heyes thought to himself without saying so.

Kid nodded, still eating. Presently, he asked, "What are you doing here, anyway, out in the middle of nowhere? I figured you'd gone back east with that Englishman you indentured to from the home," he remarked, noting that his cousin habitually ate with his fork in his left hand like a European. _Must've been with that English fellow for quite a while._

Heyes looked away for a moment, clearly saddened. "No, he died a while back." He continued. "I'm waiting around to meet a fellow called Pierce. He was supposed to be here two days ago."

"Funny. Wonder what's holding him up."

Heyes smiled a familiar crooked smile. "Knowing Jack Pierce, it's likely to be the other way around." _What's he been holding up?_ "Anyway, when he gets here, we're going to Fort Worth." He decided not to mention just yet what they were going there to do. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Most anything I can get paid for, I guess. Was a horsewrangler for awhile with a ranch in Oklahoma. Tamed a string of horses for a man in Arizona—really taming 'em, I mean, not busting broncos. Slower, but you get better horses out of it. After that, I got restless. Just been driftin' around, place to place. I've had a whole bunch of jobs. And, well, I've ridden with probably three or four gangs in the last couple years." He eyed Heyes carefully, not sure how his cousin would take that news. "Never really meant to turn outlaw, but that's how it is. Anyway, never stayed with any of 'em too long. Once we did the job and I got my share, they weren't too happy to have me around. Don't guess they trusted me much." Kid caught the eye of the waitress and held up two fingers. "Cerveza, por favor."

Heyes mused thoughtfully. Considering what he'd just seen in the saloon, it just might be in his best interests if Jack Pierce never showed up. Jed, after all, would be a lot more help when it came to holding up the bank in Fort Worth; however, this didn't seem like the right moment to bring it up. Too sudden. True, the Kid had said he was headed for some kind of job, but when he told him about the haul they could make in Fort Worth, he felt sure Kid would jump at the chance.

The waitress brought them their beer in heavy glass mugs that were not as clean as they might have been. "Say, you got someplace to sleep tonight?" Heyes asked.

"Nope. I wasn't planning to stay the night. I was just stopping to find someplace to eat, is all. Then I heard the commotion in the saloon."

"Well, I have a room in the hotel. Why don't you share it with me? It came with two beds."

"It'd be nice to sleep in a bed instead of on the ground," Kid said slowly. "Yeah, sure." He smiled—the first smile Heyes had seen since they'd met. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Any time. You any good at poker?"

"Depends on what you call good," Kid replied after a long pull at his beer. "I'm no piker, if that's what you're asking."

Indeed he was not, Heyes decided a few hours later in a different saloon. His cousin Jed—Kid, that is—was a good player; not brilliant, but good. He was the kind of player who could usually be counted on to win more hands than he lost, and he didn't draw to inside straights. Moreover, if anyone ever had a 'poker face', Kid Curry did. One other thing that pleased Heyes, too—Kid watched everyone and everything around him. Not one person entered or left that saloon that Kid didn't notice, and he kept a sharp eye on all the other players at the table, as well as on his own hand—a sure sign of a suspicious nature. Hannibal Heyes decided that he was beginning to like the man his cousin had become.

 

*** *** ***

The moon cast eerie shadows in the street as Heyes and Kid walked back to the hotel, long after midnight. "There now," said Heyes, self-satisfied. "Isn't that better than thirty-seven cents?"

The Kid chuckled. "Yeah, it sure is. One hundred seventeen dollars and seventy-five cents better. Of course, you won more 'n I did, but I don't care." The laugh faded away and he kicked up dust clouds without saying anything for a minute. "Heyes?"

"Yeah?"

Kid stopped walking and turned to look at his cousin. "What was that story you heard about me? When you were in Wyoming, you said."

"Oh, well, that takes some explaining. You see, at the time, I was riding with a gang up there—the Devil's Hole gang. Heard of 'em?"

"Nope, afraid not."

"Anyway, this old coot comes into Devil's Hole one day on a mule. Kyle and Hank nearly shot him at the lookout point, but it turned out all he wanted was a fire and some grub. So we blindfolded him and let him come on up. After we all ate, we were telling stories and fooling around and showing off. You know, shooting tin cans, and that kind of stuff. Well, the old man watched awhile and said that I was the best shot of all of us, and Wheat after me, but he'd seen a fellow down in Texas that could beat us all hollow." He paused, turning toward Kid. "So we all listened to his story, and he told us about this gunfighter, mean as a snake, a real killer. He had an uncommon name, MacIlhannon or something." Heyes used the wrong name, deliberately, and waited.

"McGannon," Kid said slowly. A cat yowled somewhere in the darkness, flinging an age-old challenge to an unseen rival.

 _So it really was Jed..._  "Yeah, that's it. McGannon. He was one of those fellows who start fights on purpose—he liked shooting men the way some guys like gambling. Anyhow, one day he backed some young fellow into a fight, maneuvered the situation so he'd have to call the youngster out in the street. Well, the old-timer told it longer, but McGannon went for his gun first and got more than he'd bargained for—the youngster outdrew him and shot him, with the fastest draw he'd ever seen. McGannon never even cleared leather. The young fellow, he said, had curly brown hair and blue eyes; was probably about twenty, but looked not much past seventeen, and he went by Kid Curry." Heyes scratched one of his boot heels in the dust. "Naturally, I got curious. The description kind of sounded like my long-lost cousin. So, when Big Jim got arrested and Wyoming got too hot to stay in, I headed south anyway." He smiled. "Decided to see if I could find this Kid Curry and satisfy my curiosity. Looks like I did." He touched Kid's arm.

Kid Curry turned away from the comradely gesture and stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. "At least the old-timer told it right. Going out in the street wasn't my idea. It was McGannon's. He called me out." He fell silent as they continued up the street to the hotel.

In the room, Heyes closed the door behind them and locked it. "Kid?"

"Yeah?" His cousin sat down on the unused bed to pull off his boots.

"What's the job you're headed for?"

"I'm meeting up with a trail herd out of San Antonio—up the Chisholm Trail."

Heyes rolled his eyes, disappointed. "You're too smart for that, Kid. Any idiot can herd cows." He picked up the one straight-backed chair in the room, turned it around, and sat on it backwards. "It's like this. I know how you can make more money than you ever had before, and you won't have to eat dust all the way to Kansas to do it." He folded his arms over the back of the chair and eyed Kid expectantly.

"Doin' what?"

"Come with me in place of Jack Pearsall, and we'll go rob the bank in Fort Worth." He added with a charming smile, "And with you along instead of him, all the money stays in the family."

"I sorta figured you were talkin' about something like that. It's a lot more dangerous than driving cattle. A fellow could get killed." He looked up. "The first gang I ran with, Jim Caldwell's gang, they did a holdup in Garden City. It went sour, a couple of the bank people got killed. Those of us who were outside scattered in all directions, and Caldwell and some others went to prison. I was just holding the horses—I was, what, seventeen? Anyway, I lit out from there and that's how I ended up in Texas."

"Easy, Jed. It's not gonna be like that. It's not a stickup, and nobody gets hurt. The way I do it, it's a lot more profitable, and there's no shooting. We go in at night and I open the safe."

"You mean, with dynamite?"

"Not if I can help it. Too much noise, then somebody goes for the sheriff. I open the lock, that's how. It's a technique. Think of all that money, and only me to split it with, fifty-fifty."

Kid grinned, convinced at last. "It sure sounds good. But, Heyes, I can't do it. Not this time. I've already made a deal with the ramrod. We shook hands on it, and he gave me some earnest money so I could get there. That's where I'm on the way to, San Antonio."

Heyes shrugged, casually. "So send him back the earnest money and tell him it's a family emergency."

"Can't. I gave my word."

"And you shook on it?"

"Yeah." Kid didn't meet his eyes, and traced with his finger the design on the faded patchwork quilt on his bed.

"Well, a deal's a deal." Heyes sighed. "I hate to say it, cause I'd sure rather go to Fort Worth—but I guess I'm learning how to herd cattle."

"I don't follow you."

"Oh, yes, you do. And if you can't follow me, then I'm following you," he said, deliberately playing on the words. "I'm not going to let us get split up again, like they did at the home." _Soon as I turned sixteen, they split us up on purpose..._ "If you think I'm gonna keep on chasing you all over the country, you're crazy." Not for all the gold in California would Heyes have admitted it out loud, but he was lonely. And he'd been lonely for longer than he cared to think about. Being part of a gang just wasn't the same as having a friend, or a family. Or both. "What's the boss's name?"

"Um... Nelson. Red Nelson."

"I've heard of him, I think. But once we get through with this drive, no more trail herding. You're coming back to Wyoming with me. Deal?" _With Kid along, I'll bet I can take over as leader of the gang from Wheat Carlson. Then we can really pull some big jobs..._

"Wait a minute. What about Fort Worth?"

"That bank isn't going anywhere. We'll get to it later, maybe if we come south for the winter. How about it?"

Kid was silent. He'd learned two lessons to live by—never sit with your back to the door and never trust anybody. The last one included kith and kin as well as strangers. Hell, he hadn't even been sure he still had any kith and kin until that afternoon. But the idea of actually having a real partner, a friend... he'd been a lone wolf for so long he'd forgotten what it was like not to be. It was risky, though, trusting anyone at all... but he had to give it a chance. Hoping it would be worth the risk, he nodded. "All right, it's a deal."

"Good. This one drive, then we go up to Wyoming."

"Heyes, you awake?" asked Kid an hour later. The room was pitch dark and still.

"I am now," his cousin muttered sleepily.

"Did you ever kill a man?"

"No."

"Take my advice. Don't."

Heyes lay awake for a long time after that; he had a headache, and Kid was snoring, but his own imagination occupied the time in making plans for the new, improved Devil's Hole gang.

 

*** *** ***

An out-of-tune saloon piano sent discordant notes tumbling out of the door as Heyes and Kid passed by. Abilene, Kansas was just as noisy, lively, and dirty as its reputation claimed it to be. Heyes considered going into the saloon, but he wasn't sure his ears could stand the din of that piano.

"What are we going to do when we get up there?" Kid asked. "What if nobody's there anymore?"

"They'll be there. I suppose they're pulling little jobs here and there to have enough money to live on. Most of them don't have anywhere else to go since Big Jim got arrested. "

Kid stopped short and stared. "That sounds real encouraging."

"No problem. Honest, it won't be. But we're going to Denver first."

"What's in Denver? For us, I mean."

Heyes grinned. "High-stakes poker. We have to get you new boots, Kid—before long I'll be able to see what color your socks are. And you'll need a warmer coat, as Wyoming's not like Texas. And horses for both of us—good, fast horses, not that five-dollar plug of yours. And all of that's going to cost more than we made driving herd."

 

*** *** ***

"You know, it's kind of pretty up here," observed Kid Curry as his horse splashed through a stream. He'd traded the ugly roan for a rangy blood-bay with strong legs, a good disposition, and a forelock that looked like a scrub brush. "In a rough sort of way." A patch of 'Indian paintbrush' flowers stained the hillside scarlet with blooms.

"Yeah, it is," agreed Heyes from ahead of him. HIs bright sorrel mare tossed her head. "Fortunately, it's not too pretty. Otherwise, civilization'll start wanting to move in here." They were entering a teacup valley with rugged mountains rising on either side. Heyes squinted into the sun toward the top of a bluff and reined in. He drew his Smith and Wesson, firing three quick shots into the air.

"What's that for?"

Heyes pointed to the bluff. "So Kyle Murtry up there doesn't blow our heads off, that's what for. Some of the boys'll come down to meet us before long."

Presently, three riders cantered up to them. One of them called out with a Southern drawl, "Heyes! Where you been? We figured you done left the country and gone to Mexico."

"Not me, Kyle," Heyes chuckled. "My Spanish isn't that good. I just went down to Texas, and brought us back a gold mine."

"What gold mine are you talkin' about?" asked a tall, lean rider. "And who's he?"

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Hank, he is the gold mine. He's only the best fast-draw I've ever seen in my life. Boys, this is Kid Curry. Kid, welcome to Devil's Hole."


End file.
